As It Should Have Been
by heeta.j
Summary: A series of related and unrelated oneshots between the Phantom and his Soprano. Read chapter four for the latest details.
1. Love Was Always There

**AN: Edited to the best of my abilities which are not a lot (cut me some slack :). No but seriously, send me some constructive feedback, I will appreciate it to the moon and back. FYI this is on wattpad and I do update there quicker because it's more convenient. So feel free to read this there if you desire.**

 **Next Chapter: Reflections: CPOV**

 **Enjoy!**

 **WC:2418**

 **Christine**

His anger had terrified her, but it had melted as soon the sound of his pained sobbing reached her ears. It completely broke her heart. She gingerly picked up that mask, not knowing what she intended to do with it, but knowing she had to go to her angel.

Her angel who she knew to have a sharp mind was so broken. He did not even realise that she had crawled in front of him until she lightly put her fingers on his shoulder. It pained her to see him shrink back as if she would hurt him. It told her a lot about why he had been so angry with her. That her poor angel had been hurt by many before.

But she could not give up. She had waited ten long years to meet him and the last two had been more torturous than ever. She had to touch him. Prove to him that she was sorry. Anything for him not to be so broken. She would do anything to gain his forgiveness. To be back in his favour again.

"Angel," she whispered softly, enjoying his sharp intake of breath, as she moved closer with their knees touching now.

She put down the mask behind her before gripping his strong shoulders with both of her hands. And this time he didn't shrink and she was relieved to see that instead his sobbing had turned quieter. But it was no less painful. She had to stop this heartbreak.

She mulled over where to begin, which of her secrets should she share first. Because she needed to know everything about this mysterious man. But to expect for someone to share their secrets, you always had to part with one of your own.

"Erik please look at me," that seemed to do the trick. Yes she knew what name her angel went by. A name she had carried and cherished in her heart for two long years. His whole body had gone rigid but he still did not look up. She was terrified of his wrath for what she was about to do. But her devotion outweighed her fear.

She slowly moved her hands from his shoulders to his chin, pausing a moment letting him know her intent, hoping he would allow it, before daring to gently cup both sides of his dear face in her small palms. She hoped what she was that her intentions did not bring her hopes crashing down on her. She slowly lifted his bent head and surprisingly he let her. She bit her lip so as to not make any sound as she looked at the extent of the damage of his face.

She was glad to see his eyes were closed as if he were afraid to see her repulsion like the rest of them. But she wasn't glad because she did not want him to see her reaction, far from it. But the things she had in mind to accomplish, she would not have had the nerve to do it with his intense amber eyes set on her.

First in order was wiping his tears. She did not like it, not one bit. It was amazing how she could think about anything else with the cause of his pain so clearly displayed in front of her. She brought her attention back to his disfigurement. She was glad that she felt more calmer than she had hoped for.

It began at his hairline which was heavily discoloured and pitted. His eyebrows where one was thick and arched the other was completely hairless and gouged in. Her thumb traced the area where it should have been.

She worried at his stiffness, but did not want to shatter the peace that they had settled in. She noticed that his eyelash on the damaged side was hairless and the eyelid so much thinner than the perfect side. She remembered that his right eye had seemed to be sunken in.

As her fingers traced his cheeks, his damaged cheek followed the pattern on his forehead but it was more damaged. She had no way to describe it but the only words that came to mind were discoloured, sunken, and thin in so many areas.

What worried her most was his caved in nose, his poor poor nose. Could he breathe properly through it, she wondered. It would be the first thing she would ask him when he was ready to answer her questions.

Lastly, her eyes settled on those bloated lips before her thumb settled in to trace it. The rest of his damaged face caused her to feel sympathy but it couldn't be roused for those uneven lips, no matter how misshapen.

She was rather curious, what if she dared to experiment on her curiosity, would it quench the thirst she had carried for so long. She was glad his eyes were closed now or she would have lost her courage. She moved her hands back to his shoulders to steady herself before moving towards his face with her own. She was nervous yet determined at the same time.

With an undeniable hunger she closed her eyes and softly touched her lips to his. His lips that were surprisingly soft but firm at the same time. She had nothing to compare it to, but it did feel wonderful. But what seemed to ignite a fire within her seemed to act like bucket of iced water on him.

His eyes opened as he jerked back to see him staring at her his fists clenched on his knees. Too many emotions swirling in those wide amber eyes for her to pick just one.

"Christine, what do you think you are doing?" He hissed at her both scaring her and embarrassing her at the same time. Did he think her a harlot now? But the years she had known her Angel, she knew he didn't apply the same boundaries or rules on women as the rest of the world did. His anger deflated so quickly soon to be replaced by what it seemed was shock.

"Christine kissed her Erik. No...no...Christine kissed a monster. Erik is the monster. Erik does not..." he moaned brokenly.

"Angel I..." her voice snapped him out his self monologue and it seemed his anger had been ignited again.

"Do you now fear the monster Christine, or do you simply pity it? Whatever your reasons do not believe for a second that you will ever be free from me. Those who see this monstrosity are forever bound to me," his voice rose from a hiss to a loud angry threat. A threat that was completely unnecessary.

"I do not want you to let me go," she whispered softly waiting to see his reaction. Her heart feeling a tender rush of emotion at seeing his face so endearingly shocked before he lowered it again.

"Erik does not understand," he said in a voice that was almost child-like and fearful. She would be brave. She would confess. Her secret hopes. Her needs. She would make him listen and maybe he would grant all of her heart's desires. She rested her hands on his clenched fists.

"Angel, I have always sang just for you, whenever and wherever you asked me to. But today I would like to tell you a story if you would be willing to listen, please mon Ange," she told him looking at his bowed head, and he finally gave her a barely perceptible nod.

So she began the story a young Swedish girl. A girl who at the tender age of seven had lost her sickly papa. But her papa had promised her the angel of music . And how on the same night she had lost her papa and she had gained her angel.

The angel never let her feel lonely. Whenever she called for him he was always there singing songs in her head. And his voice it was so beautiful nothing she had heard before or after meeting her angel. As a child it brought her peace and calmed her fears. But as time passed the music between tutor and protege changed. Their music lit a fire in her that whatever she did or tried it could not been stopped.

She did not want an angel anymore she admitted. What she wanted now was a man. Someone who wasn't so unreachable or untouchable. But not just anyone would do. It had to be someone with her Angel's voice. An impossible feet. It seemed that her budding love was to end before it even had the chance to begin.

Until, she started paying attention to things that had always been there. But she had been too distracted in her own little bubble to pay attention. The rumours she had naively dismissed took root in her mind with the arrival of the new managers. She started thinking and looking for signs.

Her Angel. The Phantom. The Mask. The face of death. An undeniable suspicion was born. Were her Angel and the Opera ghost one and the same? The ghost who had the face of death they used to say in whispers. Why else would her angel hide unless he was truly hideous to look at. Angels were beautiful beyond belief after all. She ignored his flinch but squeezed the top of his fists instead.

Because if she stopped now she probably would not finish and she had to tell him everything and so she continued on with her tale. How could she not make the obvious assumptions she asked him.

That maybe he was no ethereal being but just a man with a voice so heavenly. A voice in which she always lost herself. A voice which brought forth music which was both serene like an angel's and passionate like a Greek god's.

Her Angel, someone, she had known and cared for, for ten years. Someone who had sung to a heartbroken little girl and since then had always been there for her. How could she not care for him she asked, her silly Angel.

But she was the silly one. How could she have realized and accepted that he could be ugly, but not have realized that the mask was proof enough that he wished for it to remain hidden. Even from her.

Not that she thought him ugly, but unfortunately disfigured on half of his face. Her heart ached with sympathy at what he must have suffered and what he could have had. The perfect side of his face was so inhumanly beautiful, it was almost unbearable to look at despite his disfigurement.

And she continued further. Telling him about how it was becoming impossible for her to bear the lack of her Angel's physical presence. And so with the help of her one and only female friend, Meg Giry, together the two of them had formed a plan. A plan to catch the Phantom.

Ever since then she would beg him to sing for her and then pretend to fall asleep during their music lessons waiting with baited breath to see what he would do. How after long minutes she had felt strong arms lift her up and carry her to her sleeping quarters. And so the routine had continued where she pretended to sleep as many times as possible to both feel his arms around her and be tucked close to his warm chest. His undoubtedly human chest.

Thus with this discovery came the surge of feeling betrayal and bitterness. The hurt for not being trusted. But despite the anger the hunger still had not abetted but had only increased. It had escalated by simply knowing that her angel no ethereal being, but just a man. And regardless of her anger she still wanted him nearer. She more eagerly now wanted to know more about her mysterious tutor.

And so the spying followed suit, wherever Madame Giry went she and Meg were sure to follow whenever they could. To eavesdrop over all the secret conversations. To steal into Madam's quarters to read those letters she was sent by the Phantom. She told him all about the new discoveries she had made through all her methods of subterfuge.

The very first one, his name. Erik Dessler. A name she had cherished in her heart for two years. Erik, a powerful ruler, someone who ruled over everything dark and night. Oh, how he had ruled her mind and soul without even trying to.

And then there were the other things. Things like how all of her Birthday and Christmas gifts had been his doing. How he had taken care of all her needs, wants, and more, better than anyone ever could have for their loved one. And so her anger faded but that hunger? It still burned harder. But she did not have the bravery to go after whom she wanted, fearing rejection.

She smiled hearing his huff of disbelief before explaining.

She had deduced a possible disfigurement but that was not what concerned her. It was his age she admitted embarrassedly. He was obviously older, but she didn't know by how much, what if for him she was just a child to be indulged. He had already been an adult when she was a young child.

So she kept her secrets. Until today. She had told him everything in this moment. "There was never any fear Ange, not until today, you anger it terrifies me even, but I do understand it. In the last ten years you have given me too many reasons to love you. And I love you, I have for what seems to be the longest insufferable time," she completed both proud yet afraid.

"Christine..." he whispered in a strong voice but it was laden with incredulity. Oh, his doubts she could handle, but his pain? It shattered something within was totally unbearable.

And at that thought she couldn't help but tackle him in a hug, as both of them fell downwards to the ground. She looked at his face for a moment and it seemed even more shocked than before. Oh, he had always claimed over the years, that her impulsiveness was the bane of his existence she remembered with a touch of fondness.

She had emptied out her heart, she didn't know what more to say. So she simply tried to convey what she could with her body by hugging him tightly, hoping to transfer her emotions through the physical contact.

After what seemed a very long time, she felt his arms wrap themselves around her. And at that moment she knew that everything would be alright. That their music would play on for a long time to come.

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	2. Reflections

**WC: 1739**

 **Next Chapter: Jealous Cat**

 **Enjoy!**

 **Christine**

She lay numb and unmoving in her bed. Her thoughts circling in her mind like vultures, viciously biting at her heart. It was the third time her Angel had left her. No it would be more apt to say that she had pushed him away, time and again, and the third time had finally worked. And if she wanted him than it was her turn to beg, but she was unwilling to go to him. What right did she have in wanting to stay with him now, when shed already caused him so much pain.

That first time had been completely her fault. It was his anger that had caused her fear when she had pulled free his only defense without his permission. That stark white porcelain masque. Her only solace about that particular event was that the pain she had caused him on that night so long ago was not intentional.

But every day and night since, the pain she caused him had been more deliberate than not. She wondered if he had been fully handsome like the left half of his face would she have been that frightened or angered by his lies. The answer in her mind shamed her.

The following six months without his presence had taught Christine a hard lesson. The lack of their time together and his heavenly voice left her feeling incomplete in a way she never had felt before. Not even the absence of her papa had made her feel such grief.

It made her realize something she had adamantly refused to believe for a long time. That her angel over the long years together had become the most important being to her. A fact that instead of embracing, she had acted out foolishly and selfishly when she'd realized that her Angel was not whom he had pretended to be for so long. And now that she had found the courage upon admitting the truth within herself, it was too late.

His absence caused a fondness in her. It reminded her of those feelings she's carried prior to meeting him. The same feelings she had so easily forgotten since that tragic night. Her heart knew that his face did not matter, and it never should have to begin with. But her mind, her selfish and greedy mind, it had refused to give in.

She looked for reasons to hate him and justify her hate. The threats on the Opera staff. Threats he had made because he wanted her to shine. The murder of Joseph Buquet. A murder she now knew was self-defence on his part and drunken idiocy on the dead man's part. The chandelier had been his revenge against the world that had rejected him. But mostly it was heartbreak over the fact that everyone he had warily trusted had betrayed him.

Madame Giry. The Persian. Her.

All of them had agreed to participate in the Opera Ghost's capture and even his murder if proved necessary. Never giving him a chance to prove his innocence, never listening to his reasons, always assigning him the guilt. He had to have known how the three people closest to him had agreed to partake in the planning of his death.

How she had ridiculed him in front of hundreds of people by throwing his hope back in his face. The way she'd given him only humiliation in exchange for the sweet melody he had given her.

And all for what? The Vicomte? Why should they have to give up a Vicomte for a madman. Was that what was hiding in their conscious under all the surface righteousness.

Why should Madam Giry or any of the Opera staff give up the favour of the rich patron for the sewer rat.

Why should the Persian give up any possible legal aid the Vicomte could easily provide to foreigners that needed it. Despite the fact he was about to betray the man who had saved him from one gruesome death at the hands of that Persian monarch.

Why should she have to give up the handsome and rich Vicomte for a disfigured criminal. Why should she have to give up light for darkness. Why should she have to give up company for solitude. Why should the love and care she had been showered with, matter over such a fine marriageable prospect.

Why! Why had she given up on the one who was closest to her most, for material trappings, because that was all they were.

Her Angel's three closest confidants had betrayed him so horrendously and proven him right. That no one could truly care for him or love him. All three of them had known that her Angel was no real danger to her. Then why had all of them pretended that she needed saving from him.

It was as Raoul said. Oh, her dear friend was the only true victim in any of this. He had not deserved to be dragged in her mess and be treated the way he had been. Not by her Angel and most definitely not by her.

Would the Phantom find it ironic that his biggest rival had become his champion even if unwillingly. Raoul a stranger had understood and sympathized with her Angel in a way his three closest companions had failed to do so.

"You never needed saving from him you only needed saving from your own fears. Fears that you still haven't overcome because your naïveté or maybe your foolishness does not see beyond what our rigid society dictates," Raoul had told her, not angrily, but with great regret on his handsome face. Regret and sympathy for treating him, the Opera Ghost so poorly.

Why had she seen the truth in Raoul's words when she had failed to see into her own heart or her Angel's. Why could Raoul show her Angel the compassion that she had utterly failed to do. Why had she felt as if she owed Raoul her gratitude, while acting so unappreciative of everything her Angel had done for her.

Her broken engagement was minutely the only selfless thing she had ever done. By letting Raoul break off their engagement she had at the very least not humiliated him in front of the upper class.

His family and friends secretly must have congratulated him to finally have gotten rid of the Opera whore.

Only the two of them knew of his broken heart and her relief. Even her shelterer, Madam Giry was under the impression that the Vicomte had gotten bored with the lower class soprano. She no longer cared of what others thought. Raoul's words had freed her but in a manner it had shackled her feet.

She did not care what others thought about any of this, that was not what stopped her from going after her Angel.

It was the absolute shame she felt for letting her cowardice win over, and letting go of what her Angel and she had shared.

It was the regret of not showing him the consideration and regard he so deserved. Something she had so easily given to another man.

The absolute guilt for having humiliated him in front of hundreds with the unmasking. Spitting at the hope in his eyes and voice. God his painful screaming and sobbing still rang in her head and pained her. She wanted to cut her hands off for that one sin.

And then there was the selfish fear again. He'd left her for six long months for her accursed curiosity. He'd let her go when she'd kissed him desperately and wantonly. And the very last time she met him had ended in a broken engagement.

Not that she regretted breaking with Raoul, but she was pained that it had not fixed things the way she had hoped. That he was not nearby and had not come swooping in to take her in his arms.

And now what would happen if she did find him and he was gone from her life again. She would not be able to stand the pain, not now. Not when she had someone else to think about, someone else to care about. At that thought her hand moved slowly to where the sign of their last meeting rested.

Her Angel did not deserve to be treated as a last resort. He would never believe it now that she would choose to be with him out her own violation, not anymore.

And then there were the multitude of reasons why he deserved better than her. The thought of him with someone else pierced her heart in a way she had no right to feel. And he could have had anyone. Maybe not anyone, but a woman who could love him as he deserved. Men uglier than him inside and outside she had seen had no problem finding a wife or a mistress as long as their wallets were fat.

And her Angel, he was not only rich in francs but also in mind, probably the wealthiest in that respect. His genius alone could have won him the heart of a female. Just like how he had won her over with his voice.

She had loved him when he was her angel. And while she had denied it vehemently, her heart had still beat in tune with his even after he became the ghost. It had been obvious for all to see what her heart felt for him at that performance day. But her anger and vindictiveness had made her blind. The things he had done were far more forgivable comparably to what she had done to him.

She had done nothing to deserve him or his love. She had only acted terribly and ruthlessly to the man who's only crime was loving her. The tears could not be contained anymore as they slowly slid down her cheeks.

She was a selfish child. He both deserved and needed a good woman and it wasn't her. She had never proven her worth. Even if it hurt too much to think about it.

Even if she made a child fatherless.

Even if a father never knew his child.

Even if she missed him.

Even if she was sorry.

Even if she loved him.

She would let him be free from her. And if it was meant to be, they would find their way back to each other not by force this time, but by fate.


	3. Jealous Cat

**WC: 1487. Edited.**

 **Next Chapter: Persia**

 **Enjoy!**

 **Christine**

She would never have thought that a day such as this would arrive in her life. She was not a jealous person to begin with. She was not, she argued vehemently in her mind as her delicate fingers twisted in the skirts of her dress.

Well, that was a lie she admitted to herself with a moue. But surely a woman in love, so desperately in love and devoted was prone to a few base jealousies.

Granted, that maybe she had the tendency of going a little overboard in her jealous escapades. But then her jealousies were nothing in comparison to her Phantom she thought fondly with a secret smile. His jealous rage always had desired results, a blush rose to her cheeks at those memories.

But so far her jealousies had been valid worries over how much and where her eccentric husband's affections lay.

The trust he had put in Madame Giry but never outwardly shown her, had made her very envious and hurt. Until he had explained that he had simply feared her rejection. That confession had melted her hurt in mere seconds.

Than it was finding out that he had also funded Meg's [as much she loved her friend] Birthday and Christmas gifts. That discovery had not gone so well and she winced at remembering her dramatic reaction.

The throwing of his valuable books at him had been uncalled for. But her insecurities at the time were running high. Why had he chosen a plain girl like her over the gorgeous and vivacious Meg Giry. Meg also had a pleasant voice that he could have trained over the years. Or had he been tutoring little Meg Giry as well? The idea had pained her too much.

She was a possessive chit when it came to their music lessons. Her Angel of Music was hers alone.

But again he'd calmed her fears by stating his reasons while wiping her tears at the same time. He asked her to understand how little Giry would have felt seeing her mother give gifts only to Christine, not knowing they didn't come from her mother but the Opera Ghost. To think on how would Meg have felt seeing her mother get gifts only for her friend.

She reluctantly understood but that didn't mean he had to pick out Meg's gifts as well. And she'd told him so pouting away from him.

"But I did not, dear heart. I only gave Mademoiselle Giry the requisite francs for taking such good care of you," he'd purred at her before bending down to take her lips with his. Her toes still tingled and cheeks still flushed thinking about the passionate kiss that had soon followed.

And the thought of passion brought her mind to her most hated subject. Persia. Never would she have thought that a man would rouse her jealousies the most. But Nadir Khan had. He was not only Erik's true friend but he also knew everything of what Erik had experienced in Persia.

Erik had always been unforthcoming when it came to his life in Persia. He still had not told her much about it and mainly because he thought her too innocent to know such suffering. And she wanted to know these things desperately but she let Erik keep his secrets in that regard because she knew it hurt him still to even think about it.

Nadir Khan had bore witness to it all. She had resented him for it. He may be her husband's friend but she was his wife she'd thought stubbornly. But it was the one subject she'd learned to let go of [for now] because she didn't have the courage to bring it up.

And there was one thing she did not want to ever discuss with him, ever. She was curious as was her nature, but it would hurt too much to have it confirmed. She definitely did not want know what passions he must have tasted with all those other women. She did not want to learn on how he'd come by his expert skills in bed play.

Who could have taught her husband to be such a great lover, she asked herself enviously.

She did not want to remember the pleasured glint he'd gotten when she'd asked him if he found any foreign woman beautiful. How he'd called the Persian king's concubines exotic beauties who could spin a man's mind with just one glimpse.

She would forgive him for being that way with other woman. She ignored the tiny voice that insisted that he should beg her for forgiveness. It was not her place to judge after all.

She was aware that men were not constrained to the same rules of chastity as women were. She would let it go she promised herself or die pretending at the very least. Besides he was all hers now and she knew he loved her beyond reasoning.

And while the Persian had been the receptive of her envy the most, she'd managed to bury it. It was not gone yet when it came to the man, but it didn't make her ill mannered any more as before. She flushed in embarrassment at her previous rudeness to the Daroga, but she could not change the past.

But her jealousy now? It was beneath her, completely ridiculous, and senseless. Yet here she sat fuming in envy of her who lazily sat directly on the opposite sofa across her.

Her rival was a regal being. She would give her that.

She was also very pretty. It was undeniable that her husband was fond of beautiful things.

She also acted with much intelligence many times. And Erik did have a great appreciation for smart minds.

Nonetheless, why would Erik find such comfort in her?

Why would Erik act like she was a young to be taken care of?

Why could Erik not see that she was simply lazy and fat, if not completely ordinary.

Christine had completely lost it now and she knew this.

"While you wasted your jealous energies on outsiders the true danger was in your own home enjoying your husband's affections," she seemed to taunt Christine.

"Erik is mine, you ungrateful..." she came to a stop as she felt him behind her. Her soul's master.

She closed her eyes hoping that hadn't, but knowing he had heard the ridiculous tirade. She opened her eyes, stood up, and turned bravely to face the music so to speak.

Her heart stuttered as her eyes fell on his form. Why did he always have to take her breath away. Her mind was becoming muddled from glancing at that longish dark hair, to that strong breadth of his shoulders, before finally resting on those intense amber eyes.

"You were saying something my little songbird, please do not stop on my account," he purred in that sensual voice as he walked towards her and took her in his arms. His unmasked side resting in her neck. She shuddered at the feel of him.

Without the mask she got a vulnerable Erik and a broken angel she loved and adored. With the mask she got the Phantom who controlled and dominated her. It seemed her husband was in the mood to dominate her.

"Christine?" He asked again as his lips trailed across her neck.

Oh was she supposed to answer? Right now?

"Why did you name her Ayesha," she said almost whiningly the first thing that came to her mind. Oh god she thought miserably.

She was jealous of Ayesha. Erik's Persian cat. A cat for god's sake. What had the great diva been reduced into she thought. She had no business being jealous of anyone, let alone a feline.

And now her sharp as a tack of a husband would know. That she was about to argue with their cat.

He stopped what he was doing as he moved to look at her, before the man broke out in melodious laughter.

Despite her embarrassment she could not help but smile like a fool in the face of his mirth. Grateful for having caused it, even if at her expense.

"Oh darling, you do get so bored when I go out don't you," he said happily as he picked his small wife up and kissed her forehead before sitting down with her on his lap tucking her into him.

Oh but she was now indeed curious about the meaning behind the cat's name. A topic for another day.

For now, they would enjoy this happy atmosphere. All three of them.

No she thought suddenly. It wasn't just the three of them anymore, there was the fourth Dessler in the room with the. Safely hiding beneath her husband's hand that lay on her stomach.

She sighed happily thinking about Erik's reaction.

She just hoped it was a boy. It wouldn't do to be jealous of your own daughter after all.


	4. Persia

**WC:2881**

 **Next Chapter: TBA**

 **Edited to the best of my abilities. Enjoy!**

 **Erik**

He woke up with a start, his breathing heavy and skin uncomfortably hot. He was glad for the fact that his wife hadn't woken up with him as she usually did.

The nightmares were always horrible. They were far and distant, since the angel beside him had graced his life. And almost nonexistent since she had agreed to be his.

However rare these nightmares were, they still haunted him from time to time. And they came without fail when he partook in that insipid Persian's company and the alcohol the man provided.

But he couldn't blame the Daroga. The man on this very day for the last fifteen years had been mourning someone precious to him. His wife.

How would she react, he wondered, seeing them both indulge in alcohol. As a devout Muslim she was completely against liquor or any vices really.

How would she feel seeing that the two men who she had been closest to in her life, mourned her death by consuming the very thing she hated. She could forgive him since he was an "infidel," but she would have never forgiven Nadir. She at the very least would have given the police chief tremendous grief.

The thought of her aghast and angry reaction brought a slight amused smile to his face. But it couldn't take away the pain. Especially the guilt and the regret.

He didn't regret a lot of things in his life. Most certainly not the lives taken by his very own hands. Everyone he had killed by the Shah's orders, if given the chance, would have surpassed the Persian King in cruelty. And he most certainly did not regret his first few kills before travelling to Persia and beyond.

But when it came to her, he felt too many regrets. That she had to die. That he couldn't save her. That the babe in her stomach had not even been given the chance to see the world. That his only friend had lost his family in trying to save him. That she was executed so cruelly for simply trying to help him.

He'd come to terms with it to an extent. He knew the actual guilt lay with the Shah. That he'd never asked or expected help from the Daroga. But he didn't feel any less responsible or disappointed with himself.

Disappointed that he had been unable to punish Genghis Akbari for killing one innocent woman. The first woman and more importantly the first person who had found a friendship in him. He felt the rage at having been unable to wrap his lasso around that fat man's neck.

The Daroga and his wife had by no means deserved what they had been put through. He felt guilty of finding the very happiness that had been stolen from Nadir.

But then he looked down at his young wife's face. She was so beautiful that it pained him. That innocence that shone from her made him want to cage her in his heart.

Yes he admitted to himself, as his hand descended towards her soft hair to sort through those brown curls, he didn't feel too guilty when it came to his wife. He would have done anything, sacrificed anyone to have his Christine like this, beside him.

He was selfish enough to know that despite how undeserving he was of his wife, he would never let her go.

But just as much as he was undeserving, the Daroga's wife had deserved just as much to live and lead a happy life. A life full of laughter and joy with her husband and unborn child. In the end it had been her life that was cruelly taken away, only because in her innocence she thought him worthy of saving.

If he hadn't already met her, he would not have been able to believe that there was someone out there who was even more innocent than his Christine. His love would

have gotten along well with his friend. They despite coming from two vastly different cultures, ironically had the similar ideas and opinions. Christine viewed the world with an optimism that at best was unrealistic or at worst could end up causing one's life. Just like it had caused hers.

Nonetheless the Daroga's wife was definitely more naiver and innocent than his shy soprano. In a way it was surprising, considering the knowledge she had been exposed to being a palatial police chief's wife.

She had seen good even in him, when nobody else ever had before her. Even Nadir who had been assigned to be his keeper by the Shah had been wary of him at first. Even his Christine had been frightened of him. Grated, he now did believe it was truly his anger that had frightened his love.

She had been the only one who had smiled a true smile at him despite seeing his uncovered face for the first time. In that moment he had been grateful to her.

He hadn't loved her not like a man loved a woman. He hadn't even felt a base attraction towards her as he uncomfortably had with the women in the Shah's harem.

But he'd felt a connection and for a long time he hadn't understood why he felt so curious about her. Surely one smile shouldn't have had that big of an impact on the most dangerous assassin in the nation.

It wasn't as if she had any talent that would intrigue him and whatever she could do, he surpassed her by far with his own skills. Again he couldn't help but smile remembering her annoyance at his cooking expertise. She 'd wholeheartedly believed that a man had no place in the a sentiment he agreed with but he had found her stubborn convictions almost endearing, even if they had annoyed him beyond no measure.

It had not been till he'd observed the Khanum's behaviour towards her own children that he realized what fascinated him so much about the Daroga's wife.

It was her nurturing nature. Something he'd never witnessed or experienced in a woman before her. Even his own mother had hated him and never let him forget about it.

He felt a conviction that surely she would love a child despite any outer flaws. She had made him wistful of something he'd never had but always fervently wished for.

A mother's loving hand.

Ironic really that he'd found a woman younger than him to be his ideal idea of what a real mother would be.

That first time she'd touched him it had been to heal, not to hurt. So unlike how many had tried to hurt him before. In spite of being subjugated to his visage, she'd still smiled through the chore trying to ease the wounds without flinching.

Her lack of disgust. Her lack of fear. Her lack of mistrust. It had perplexed him but it had also made him feel.

It made him believe in something that had been impossible for him. She had given him hope that maybe one day he could find something like what she and Nadir shared. Only he'd found something infinitely better. But his happiness had come at a grave cost and that truth haunted him especially on her death anniversary.

Christine had married him without knowing anything at all. If she found out about his past she would realize what a monster he truly was.

At the thought of losing her his breathing got heavy. He could not lose his wife, not now, after he'd known this happiness. He wouldn't survive it. He could not live if his wife left him.

As the dark thought circled in his mind he knew he was nearing a panic attack. He hadn't had one of those in a while either.

"Erik?" That soft sweet voice he so loved whispered in the dark of the night. It managed to put his past memories at bay. His mind put away his Persian recollections and turned worried.

"Did I wake you up my love? Forgive me." He asked cursing at himself for disturbing her. Seeing how tight his grip had gotten in her beautiful tresses. He wanted to beg for her forgiveness again in fear that he may have caused her pain.

"And why are you up right now?" She asked in return, with almost an accusatory tone, as she got up. He removed his hand from her hair and let it slide down to intertwine their fingers, glad that she didn't deny him the pleasure.

Her pique didn't surprise him. Even his own wife was not that fond of him when he imbibed and came home smelling like a distillery.

"Just about now," he answered her question, the lie slipping easily from his accursed mouth. The way her fingers tightened on his warningly told him he hadn't been able to fool her.

"Why do you feel the need to lie to me," she asked the hurt clear in her voice as she let go of his hand and got up from bed, leaving him feeling cold and empty.

He didn't have any excuse for the lies that rested at the tip of his tongue. But he also didn't have the courage to tell her the truths that haunted him today. He heard her light up the candles around the room and he could not help but think that an impending doom was heading his way tonight.

Before he realized it, his little wife was straddling him. Her arms winding around his neck and her warm brown eyes looking directly at his naked face. It still amazed him that Christine was both not disgusted by his face and loved it as well. If the Daroga's woman was a fluke of nature that could ignore his damaged face, then his Christine was a miracle to him. That she loved him in the face of what he so essentially lacked.

When he had hoped for this back in Persia, he had known at the same time that his hopes were for naught. Only if he could tell his past self about the happiness waiting for him. Would he have done things differently, he wondered. Probably not, after all patience or sympathy were not his strongest virtue.

But had his wife finally ran out of patience when it came to his secrets and lies. Did she no longer sympathize with his pain. The past sufferings the Daroga never failed to allude to whenever he dropped by.

She had this adorable yet determined expression on her face. It made him want to kiss her silly. But he refrained unsure if she would even be receptive of his touch with the so called elephant in the room.

"You had a nightmare again," she whispered softly. It wasn't a question but a statement, which made him realize that his love had fooled him by pretending to sleep. Again. A childhood trick Mademoiselle Giry had convinced his pupil to practice.

He could barely meet her expectant gaze, as he did not know how to divert her questioning. His usually quick and sharp mind it seemed was failing him today.

"You know," she started, her fingers playing with the hair on the nape of his neck. It was a good thing his night clothes were thicker than usual with the unnatural chill in the air. A really good thing. It wasn't the time… "You talk in your sleep," Christine finished bringing him back down from the fire she had unknowingly started.

As they gazed at each other her eyes full of secrets and his full of panic. He knew that she was pretending a casual she did not feel. While he was almost ready to heave at the possibility of what could have passed through his accursed mouth.

Somehow he found his courage and asked, "What did I say love?" He dreaded at the numerous possibilities. However, he didn't have a choice but to take the bull by its horns.

Instead of answering her lovely brown eyes bored into his amber ones. It seemed his little songbird was preparing for battle and the prospect of that was terrifying to him. She may not be a threat to him physically but she was a serious threat to his heart and mind.

He refrained from gulping as he asked again, "Christine?"

"Who's Ayesha?" The question caught him off guard. Was his wife playing jokes on him now or was she suffering from a brain injury unknown to him. Until it struck him both the realization and an insipid idea. His wife was no fool but maybe...

"Erik?" She stated with a note of impatience in her voice. "Yes darling, last I thought of the name, a black cat came to my mind," he drawled trying to imitate his usual confidence.

Those soulful eyes of her intolerably widened as her soft lips trembled. "So you were begging the house cat for forgiveness," she said scathingly as her fingers tightened in his hair. "Pray tell me Erik, what sins did you commit against that feline that she deserves a show of such impassioned guilt?"

His heart ached at the pain that was so obviously hidden beneath his Diva's anger. A pain that he had caused without meaning to.

He knew he had no choice but to tell his wife the truth. He'd already tested her intelligence and failed. He'd both insulted her keen mind and hurt her with his dishonesty.

Maybe telling Christine about the Daroga's wife would not be as bad as he feared. And Ayesha definitely did not deserve to be hidden like a dirty secret because she was no such thing. Ayesha Khan deserved a proper account of her very short life. He owed the woman more than he could possibly give and instead he's returned her favour with his selfish fears.

So he began telling his wife about the first female friend he ever had. He told her about all that had passed his mind this night and more. How he came into the Persian King's employ. How he met Nadir and later his young wife Ayesha. And why Nadir and Ayesha had become so important to him.

He told her about all the happy moments he had witnessed between the couple. That while the Khans' display of affection was much different than theirs it was still no less truer than their love.

How happy the couple had been when they had found out they were going to be parents. That the Daroga had somehow figured out some of the Western customs, and asked him to be the child's godfather.

But one mistaken angry outburst on his part had sent the already paranoid Shah into a frenzy. How he'd been jailed instantly on the spot and was set to be executed the very next day.

And Ayesha the foolish woman. She had convinced her husband to save him and the idiotic man had listened to his pregnant wife's wishes. Till this day neither man knew how Ayesha had got caught between the crosshairs. Though soon they had found out that the Shah had executed the poor woman for revenge against the Daroga.

The Daroga had been inconsolable and shattered after finding out . The man hadn't cared about the child. He simply wanted his wife back and had kept begging his Allah for a long time coming.

He continued on telling her about, how the two of them had run away as cowards rather than punishing the very man who had taken away their light. The being who had centered the two friends. The one person that Nadir still loved to this very day.

And the poor foolish child, she didn't reject him as he had feared. Instead his sweet wife cried tears

for his pain. She hugged him tightly as if the bad dreams would fly away. She whispered sweetly and softly in his ear as her fingers traveled down to draw circles on his back.

Only if she knew of what he'd left out when it came to his dealings with the Shah and his family. But he wasn't that brave, not yet. Thus, just like his greedy house cat he lapped up his wife's affections without a stitch of guilt.

And as he hugged Christine to his chest he could not help but send up a prayer of gratitude to Ayesha for giving him this chance to be so happy.

However, his happiness later dispersed like soap bubbles when his wife sleepily kissed him before stating, "We are going to go see Nadir tomorrow." And before he could demand why should they visit that troublesome man, his wife's small body was already heavy with sleep. Not that he would deny his love anything.

Plus he owed **st** the man his very life. Because in trying to save him Nadir had lost his wife. His Ayesha. The man's very own reason. It was a wonder the man considered himself still the Phantom's friend despite what he had cost him.

And most importantly, Ayesha had given him the chance to be with the beloved woman in his arms. And for that reason alone he would always be there for the man she had so dearly loved. No matter how odious the man in question was.

 **AN (Edited/Changed/Important)**

 **Next Chapter: Sunday Shenanigans (Erik has to keep an eye on Christen and Meg). It's completely a standalone oneshot. Something light and fluffy. WC So far: 900 approx**

 **Chapters after SS ^ in no particular order: Madeline, Matrimony, Dancing Under The Pale Moon (possible lemons), Don Juan (Another lemon), Possessive Fire, Beautiful Things, Believe Me, Integration (Meg and Darius themed), First Kiss, The Dancing Mistress, Daroga, Atrocity (The Shah), Nigh Time Interlude, The King and His Queen. I'll stop here. Let's hope I can finish all of these first before the rest.**

 **I am begging you,help a girl out :)**

 **Update Schedule: On the weekend once every two weeks. That gives me some time to write one oneshot and pre plan the next one. On top of working on my other more important writing endeavours.**

 **Status: I am changing it to completed. Because each chapter IS completed. It's not an ongoing story. It's just more convenient to add my oneshots under one story.**


	5. Sunday Shenanigans

**WC: 1910. Unedited.**

 **Next update: Madeline I**

 **Erik**

What in the heavens was the dear Madame Giry thinking? Asking _him_ of all people to mind her daughter and her ward. He was the Phantom for god's sake, not a glorified nanny.

His precious time being wasted on looking after two young girls. Time that he could have used for better things. To put his genius to the ultimate test. To write music. To paint. To create. To improve. Well, granted, that all of it would be for _her_.

At the thought of his precious. He looked back at the two girls who sat in front of him. One wore the look of absolute fear. The other one, the one dear to his heart, wore a look of eager anticipation. And as his amber eyes met her clear blue ones, he was gratified to see her grace him with her beautiful smile. An action which made the frightened young girl frowm at her friend in disapproval.

He wondered what little Meg Giry would think, if she knew that she herself made, even him, the Opera Ghost nervous in some measures. While Margaret Giry had the fear of the unknown, she was still a brave little girl especially when she was with the people she knew.

They thought him the resident prankster. Only if they knew that little Giry at times gave the Phantom a run for his money. If they knew that the pranks against the ballet girls that they blamed him for, little Giry was the actual culprit for most of those shenanigans.

As if he had the time or the inclination to act in such a juvenile fashion against the young children. He had bigger and more prominent fishes to fry than some fickle and young ballet rats. Not that the managers were any better. But the benefits of his efforts against those two fools were innumerable.

However, looking at Christine's open expression spread a calm through him. It was his pupil who was usually the cautious one between the two friends. But today his Angel wore that trusting look on her face. It made him happy in a way he seldom felt. Any and all happiness he had truly felt to this day had been because of her.

"Angel what are we doing today?" Christine asked him with a surge of excitement he'd come to expect from her whenever they shared their time together. "Definitely not another music lesson, it _is_ after all your day of rest." He told her indulgently very well aware that the girls did not necessarily rest on their one day off from the stage.

It pleased him to see the disappointment on his little Angel's face. He knew very well that music had the tendency to make them both lost within its beauty. Alas today was not the day to indulge themselves within its chains. Additionaly it wouldn't do to forget that the little Giry was also accompanying them today.

The esteemed Madame Giry did take the girls out for an outing once every week. But an unusual meeting with someone outside the Opera, had led Madame Giry to demand that he take charge of the girls today.

And Margaret was actually someone that should always be kept under one's eye, he reminded himself. He could not help but think on all the past mischief the girl had caused. Oh, how he wished the Madame would have taken her insufferable daughter with her.

Then he could have taught Christine music, the very exact thing he knew the both of them truly wanted. To better her voice. There was really no such thing as too much practice.

After all, a future Diva was required to concentrate all her time and effort on her art. Not waste her time on unnecessary things or people. But the girl's guardian had simply given him a glare at his suggestion.

At that he turned to look at Margaret speculatively. She was a curious little thing, even more so than his Christine.

The Ballet Mistress's daughter had this odious habit of needing to know everything about everything and everyone. Not that he would care what the girl did, but she always ragged his innocent pupil into her messes. Something he really was not fond of.

He could just remember that merely scant days ago, the girls had...

His Christine on the other hand? She didn't care a whit about any new object that was brought into the Opera. The only thing his pupil showed complete curiosity in was him and especially his mask.

On that note, he ruefully shook his head and reminded himself to be careful in the future from his Angel's prying fingers. They had the tendency of wandering when it came to his person. Or his face to be accurate.

"Perhaps we could visit the new cafe everyone has been talking about. I hear their cakes and pastries are the most delicious," Meg said to Christine with a barely concealed hope. And to his detriment even Christine seemed to relish the idea.

Oh, Madam Giry's loathsome girl. How could she suggest something so blasphemous? They wanted to go out with the opera ghost in toe? Did she expect the Phantom to escort the two girls down town to eat sweets? He could just for a moment relive the past taunts and fearful whispers he suffered from in public. Imagine the suspicious looks he would no doubt receive with two young girls beside him.

No, no, no. Impossible. Finalmente. They were not going out.

It wasn't until he looked at the girls faces that he realised that he had said it out loud. He was relieved to see the fearful acceptance on Meg's face.

That was until his Angel rose from the settee she had been sharing with her friend. He was highly embarrassed to admit that his young student's look of annoyed determination was quite capable of unnerving him.

"Erik, I want to go out in the sun for a walk, and also eat pastries at this new place," the Angel glared at him in annoyance as she stomped her tiny foot to the floor. He didn't know if he found the gesture highly exasperating or tremendously adorable.

"Child, you are aware that having too many sweets is hardly good for you," he tried to placate her into accepting his decision. The crestfallen look on her face made him want to kneel and beg her for a smile. Not that he would, not for bloody cakes of all things.

He was going to argue his case further. But the water in her eyes, the trembling of her lips, and the most asinine idea shot out.

"How about I myself, make you some sweets?" He suggested, barely holding in a cringe in front of Christine's beaming face.

He so wanted to take back his offer. But it was already out and by the shining look on his angel's face, he could not disappoint her again with another denial.

"Yes Maestro, I would be delighted," Christine nodded at him softly, clapping her hands twice.

So somehow, he had wound up promising to cook Persian sweets for the girls. And while he didn't mind the task, found it even soothing in a manner. However, the problem was that he tended to get lost in the art of making things in the kitchen. Just like any other past time he indulged in.

The bigger issue was procuring the required ingredients for dish he had in mind. Things Madame Giry certainly would not have. And surely, he couldn't take the girls to his lair. Antoinette would have a massive fit.

What to do? What to do? Then a solution to the predicament that hit him, it could not be that absurd. Surely, the girls could manage being alone for a few scant minutes. Half an hour at the most?

He hesitantly informed the girls of his intention. Hoping that they would deny his proposition. But regretfully when they did not. He told them that they were not under any circumstances move an inch from where they were seated.

Meg had looked quite relieved. Obviously grateful to be free of the ghost's presence. His Christine, that sweet child, had promised him that she'd be good for him and not cause him any mischief.

Ah, how he wanted to press her to his chest and croon to her that she was the sweetest, kindest, girl. But alas he would never shame his lady in such a way.

And so he had left and returned in quarter of an hour. Merely fifteen minutes. At first when he found the drawing room empty, he had panicked. Until he heard his angel's melodious laughter and the relief that ran through him had been tremendous.

But he would still scold her for giving him a scare like this. Especially when she had promised to be good for him.

That was still he stood in the entryway to the ballet mistress's kitchenette stunned into silence. He had no idea how to react or what to say.

There the girls stood. Both covered from head to toe in what he assumed was flour, butter, and something even more foul.

The very same things that now rested on his usually impeccable mask and attire.

One looked ready to cry. The other he thought suspiciously looked right to burst into fit of giggles any time soon.

But it was Christine who seemed ready to faint at his feet. And little Meg? She seemed just like a little loon he though uncharitably. They all heard the main door to the small apartment open and soon the ballet mistress stood beside him. Probably just as shocked as he was.

And her daughter laughed happily as she ran to her mother, "Mama." He didn't pay attention to the Madame that scolded the girls. Or how she reproached him to have left them alone. Or the girls explanation of how they wanted to only help him.

It wasn't until he noticed the sudden silence that he realized that the three females were staring at him.

He looked at all three females individually before returning his gaze to his box keeper.

"Next time when you require a nursemaid, perhaps it would be a better idea to take one child each." He told her loudly. But the silent and firm message was,

 _Do not expect to leave your daughter behind next time._

And as the ballet mistress looked the messy girls, she sighed out "Perhaps you are right."

"Angel, I am so sorry." She whispered out in a tone full of shame. As much as wished to, he could not be irate with her, ever.

"No harm done Christine." He told her softly before turning around and leaving the women to do as they pleased.

Though, he could not help but admit that if it had been the Daroga in his place. He would have joined the little Giry in her amusement. Mayhap it would be more feasible to be prepared if the situation ever arose again to look after the girls. Overall, it had not been too bad.

The Phantom paused at that thought. Where had the ballet mistress exactly gone? And why had she come so much earlier than expected. Something to mull over at a later time he decided.

Right now, he had more pressing issues to deal with. Like getting rid of the stench of what he deduced were spoilt eggs.


	6. Madeline I

**WC: 2115 approx. Unedited. Check and/or follow out my POTO board on Pinterest at** **650+ POTO fan art.**

 **.ca/heeta05/phantom-of-the-opera/**

 **AN: I think this can be read as a Oneshot. But as this story was going, there will be an upcoming Madeline II and possibly a Madeline III. TBH IDK when b/c Madeline II will be long and I am attempting her POV (it might wound up being a short story). I'm not too sure yet. But I'm a little slow on the uptake ri now cuz she's not exactly speaking to me.**

 **I was going to post on the weekend with a multi three- four chapters to make up for lost time but it's 25th Dec and I wanted to wish people. So, Merry Christmas! Happy Holidays! A Blessed New Year! Enjoy the rest of your days off :D**

 **Stay tuned!**

 **Next Update(s): Modern Day Settings (not in this particular order): 1. Online Correspondence 2. Her Music Teacher 3. Honourably Discharged**

 **Characters (slightly) OOC due to the smidgen of tolerance seen at present times. Fair warning.**

 **Dual**

He paced the main parlour of his childhood residence in long strides. He walked with an agitation that was out of norm for the former phantom, fervently trying to block out the memories of the whippings and beatings that he had received in the center of this very room.

He had every right to have believed that he would never return to this place. A place where his abuse and suffering had first began. Pain his own mother had put him through since the very day he was born. Yet here he was in a house that had never been a home to him. Rather it had been the worst prison of his life. Even if he hadn't suffered the worst of his physical tortures here, it was still the place that had hurt him the most to think about.

But because his beloved wife had insisted on coming here after receiving that damn letter. A post sent to them by that meddling priest, the god's man who'd taken pity on the monster and taught him the basic education when he was young. The same man against whom's neck he so badly wanted to twist his lasso right now.

 _"Erik we are better than her. The woman wants to see you. Maybe it would be good…"_ Christine had trailed off seeing the rage clear on her angel's naked face. When his face held that happy and disbelieving expression, her heart ached with tender love for him. But when he wore his anger like a shield it still terrified her. Not so much for herself but more for him. It always made his tragic face unbearable to look at, even if she loved every inch of it.

But she knew that the best way to deal with his anger and annoyance was to disregard it completely. It was the sure way to diffuse one of her husband's moods. And she knew his bark was worse than his bite anyways, at least when it came to her or their child. Not that he had ever raised his voice at their young son.

Thus she had not given up on trying to convince him to give into his only parent's last wish. And here they were a week later, in a tiny village not that far from Rouen.

He paced harder at the thought of his wife alone with _that_ woman, while he'd stayed away like a coward. And he detested that implication with burning resentment. Because if there was one thing he was not, it was coward, especially not one who hid behind his wife.

It was ironic really, because he _had_ spend most of his life hiding away. But when was physical self-perseverance ever akin to cowardice?

He sighed all of a sudden tired of his revolving thoughts.

His angel had been wrong. He was not better than that woman that had birthed him. In fact he was much more worst. Because his wife loved him she was at times blind to his most questionable characteristics.

 _That_ woman may have brought him to this world but by no means was she ever a mother. People had made him a monster, forced him to be one, but Madeline had been born to be a monster. If his mind was full of evil, than her very soul was that of the devil itself. Yet his intelligence made him more dangerous than his parent. And neither could she ever be accused of having her hands painted with blood.

He was a cold blooded murderer. She was a cold hearted mother, not that she deserved the title.

Seeing the way how his Christine loved their boy so fiercely, even the greatest mothers of the world would be poor imitations compared to his love. Then how could he call that woman, mother. He refused to do so, even if Madeline was dying.

In the far corners of his mind where his childhood still remained, _good riddance,_ his mind whispered stubbornly. The hatred wrapped itself around him like an old forgotten friend. The same words he'd heard her say again and again when it came to his multiple absences when he had lived here.

Every time he ran away when it got too much, she'd hoped that he would not return. But he always came back, like the proverbial bad penny. Until the day he didn't because he had found himself in Javert's greedy hands.

Now only Christine and Gustave had the ability to touch the depths of his heart.

He no longer had the need to seek answers to the questions that used to burn through his mind when he was young.

Erik was at peace. Erik was happy. Erik was loved.

Two beautiful angels loved Erik. He did not need more. He did not want more.

So why had he let his wife cajole him into bringing them here? To this first hell hole he'd fled from.

Erik abruptly stopped his pacing in the main parlour as he felt the presence of his angel at the doorway.

"Erik, love." The voice that always managed to make him weak came from behind him. As he turned to look at his wife, he was surprised to note that despite the circumstances, her beauty still managed to stupify him for a brief moment. How had he gotten so lucky, he could not help but wonder. That she'd chosen _him._ That she had been brave to com here when he hadn't been.

If circumstances were not what they were at the moment he would have taken his diva into his arms and hugged her against his beating heart sighing like a well fed yet greedy cat. But he didn't trust himself to be gentle, with the agitation running through his blood.

Yet he should have known that his Christine was one to hold back when it came to attacking his person. Whether it be with gentle hugs and kisses, or the ever wicked plot of unmasking his face.

And like usual, his tiny wife threw herself into his chest, wrapping her arms around his neck, burrowing her face into his own neck. And just like always he felt himself winding his own arms tightly around his precious.

The silence was almost peaceful, that was until he felt her tears against his neck, heard her tiny sob within his ears. A true blasphemy! When he'd taken her as his wife, he had vowed that she would never shed tears of pain.

And as he realized that only that wicked woman could be responsible for this, his anger reignited.

"NO, Erik. Stop!" It wasn't until he felt her tug on his arm that he realized he had been about to march his way into Madeline's room to give her a shaking for making his beloved cry.

"Let me go Christine." He gritted through his teeth, wanting nothing more than to avenge his angel's tears.

"It isn't what you think, my love." She whispered back pleadingly.

"And _what_ is it that I think?" He asked in a slow tone filled with rage, before whirling around to hiss another, "Is _she_ not the reason why you cry?"

Before he could realize her intention he stood unmasked before her.

" _Why_ Christine?" He cried out as an acute sense of betrayal hit him at her action. Had he not told her how important it was for him to remain covered when here. Had Madeline convinced her of what a hideous monster he was?

His anger filled her mind with worry, his happiness filled her heart with love. But his pain? It filled her soul with anguish and the burning need to extinguish his aches.

Yet, despite his pain filled cry Christine could not regret her action completely. Because what she had done, she had done it for him. It was this very place his self-worth had been destroyed, and it would be here where it would be healed.

She understood that it would not be easy for him. She knew it would not be easy for her to convince him of what she wanted. What she thought he needed to do.

But she was blessed to be this extremely intelligent man's wife. And she'd learned a trick or two when it came to manipulating him to do her bidding.

But before any of what needed to be done. She could not resist putting her palms against his shoulders, as lips descended below his sunken eye. Lingering there a moment to wipe his tear with her lips, before trailing kisses all over the patterns of uneven skin on his cheek.

She could feel his stiffness but forced herself not to pay it any mind as her lips landed on his broken nose. And finally her lips pressed against her favourite place as her palms cupped his face on each side. One side broken, one side beautiful. And finally her lips met his uneven yet strong mouth.

Long moments passed as their kiss lingered on. It was devoid of its usual passion and lust. As he moved back, she hoped she had been able to convey her message.

 _Forever. Together._

Two simple words that meant the world to her.

"I understand Christine, my mask, if you please." He sighed out in a soft voice but the stiffness still had not left him. His hands instead of returning her affection lay limply on his sides.

"Erik you no longer are her hated son. Or Javert's slave. Or the Shah's Assassin. Or the Opera's ghost. You have no reason to hide behind this mask anymore ange." Christine said her soft blue eyes lifting to his gold ones, pleading for him to understand.

"Do you know what your saying Christine? She hates this monstrosity. You expect me to stay calm and let her ridicule me about what I lack?" He whispered back as his hands lifted to cover her own that rested on either side of his face.

" _You_ are my angel. You _are_ also the man I love. You are _my husband._ " Any other time she would have been embarrassed about being so openly possessive. But today he needed her more than ever. There was no room for her silly antics. She fervently hoped that he was _listening_ to her. "And you are the father of my child. A child that I know you love and adore Erik. Are you ashamed of Gustave, Erik?"

"NO! How dare of you to ask such…" she cut him off with her own words "I dare because my child's father is acting ashamed of himself. How will he ever believe that you love him, accept him, if you can't accept yourself. He shares your fate Erik. And yet I couldn't have asked for a more beautiful child. Show _her_ why she was wrong. Prove it to her Erik that despite a mother's scorn, you found what she couldn't give you. That you're better than her despite what everyone says you lack" She appealed at him. Silently the last part of her statement. Her Erik was not lacking in any manner. And it was time that the one who made him believe such a lie accepted her faults.

It were mere moments of silence, but it felt like a lifetime till he nodded his head. With that she brought her hands down and interlaced her fingers with his. And finally they nade their way towards Madeline.

Yet she couldn't help but feel guilty at keeping a secret from him. If that woman hurt her angel in any way, she could not be blamed for possible murder. But in her heart she knew somehow that she was doing the right thing.

That if that woman finally gave Erik, what he had been denied, it would go a long way in perishing many of his demons.

One day when Erik was no longer as affected by this place, she would tell him all about the conversation that had taken place between his her and his mother. Maybe when she told him he would be able to ruefully shake his head at the memory of his mother.

But more than that Christine desperately wanted Erik to forgive and forget that one bond that she knew still hurt him. Even if he stubbornly denied it. But hopefully with her apology, Erik would be free from his final cage.

Javert was dead.

The Opera had been burnt.

The Shah had died not too long ago.

Madeline was dying.

And as husband and wife stood behind the door that separated them from Madeline, Christine wished that perhaps the woman was given a bit more time. And surprisingly so did Erik. Just a little.


End file.
